


Graves of Silvery Tears

by lady_laverty



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, General Kozmotis Pitchener's transformation into Pitch Black, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Soldiers, War, What Have I Done, did i mention the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_laverty/pseuds/lady_laverty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Even the star pilots were looking nervous, twittering instantaneous pictures among themselves.</em><br/>He should have taken that as the first warning of the dire things to come. Star pilots are never nervous.</p><p> </p><p>The transformation of General Kozmotis Pitchiner into Pitch Black is not one of a common villain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graves of Silvery Tears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Technicolourcity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Technicolourcity/gifts).



_“War bellows blazing in scarlet battalions._  
 _Generals order their soldiers to kill._  
 _And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten.”_

 

He remembers the whispers. The Fearlings would whisper to the soldiers that were trying to kill them, but the arcane runes they were taught as younglings protected them. General Kozmotis Pitchiner is a veteran of many a Fearling battle, but never a war. There were never enough of them to warrant such military action. Even the star pilots were looking nervous, twittering instantaneous pictures among themselves.

He should have taken that as the first warning of the dire things to come. Star pilots are never nervous.

The ensuing battles are horrendous, golden sand pours from his fellow fighters over the magnificent fields of distant planets; his golden armour dulls and his scythe chips with the ferocity of battle lust he feels. Star pilots are falling from the sky in twisted mockery of their designations, he screams until he’s hoarse but it is no use. They lose thousands, but more and more volunteer. It makes him sick, he hugs his daughter tight when he returns and her knowledgeable eyes stare into his.

“It will be alright, Daddy.”

_No, no, it will never be alright._

His superiors win the War that stains the grounds of thousands of planets gold. Star pilots and soldiers, barely out of boyhood, litter the fields and it is too much to bear. His people sing of the great victory against the Fearlings, the great victory against evil and Kozmotis thinks that evil would win either way. Mothers would never have their children back; for they are too far away to be transported back to their respective colonies and buried. Entire planets are designated as cemeteries.

He volunteers without thinking of the consequences when they ask if he knows anyone who would be worthy and strong enough to guard the cage of fear. His wife scolds him, telling him to think of what this could do to him, what it could do to their _family_ , but he doesn’t care. Seraphina will be too far away, thousands upon thousands of metres above him on the surface of their golden planet. Children and heralds dramatize the acts of futile valour that occurred during the War of Fear, dramatizing events that killed their fathers and it takes all the self-restraint he has not to rant endlessly at them.

_General Kozmotis Pitchiner, slayer of fear itself_ is what they call him in the history tomes published in the following years after the War. He reads this in his daughter’s tome that she brings home, after she is asleep. He weeps over the inaccuracies late at night; he jumps at the slightest movement that he cannot predict. He knows he is sick, very sick, but what can one do to cure an addled mind burdened with things that should never be revealed, let alone to a female healer?

And so he sits, every day without fail, in front of a cage as the dark sands swirl and whisper the last pleas of soldiers that fought, _please, Mumma, don’t let me die please, Mumma, PLEASE_. He notes in the diary that he brought from a vendor the day before his first day in the jail inside a planet that his once bright golden hair is limp and long. He journeys back and forth, up and down, to night and day, and finds that he is listening more and more to what the Fearlings have to say.

This goes on and on for years, Seraphina finds his armour and weapon. She looks up at him and stares at him, her voice whispering, in a younger and sweeter version of his.

_“We will get through this, Daddy. You and I. I love you.”_

He goes to the jail, as usual, in the morning. The Fearlings whisper their form of _good morning_. It is uneventful, until he falls asleep. The screams rouse him out of his slumber.

_“Let me out, Daddy! Let me out!”_

So he does.

And the darkness drags him under, where nothing can touch him and memories don’t plague his mind.

He sleeps and they whisper to him like a parent hushing a frightened child.

_Hush now, sleep and worry no more._

**Author's Note:**

> The title and lyrics at the start are from the ballad/folk song 'Scarborough Fair/Canticle' by Simon & Garfunkel.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
